「 ✿ 」 on AniRoleplay.com - www.aniroleplay.com/376243 「 ✿ 」

Female
23 years old
Tōkyō, Tokio
Japan

Last Login:
May 21 2019

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ペンは剣よりも強し。  (1  photos)
ume wataru
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     「 ✿ 」's Details
Characters: ume wataru (梅ワタル)
Verses: mafia, gangsta, shōjo, thriller.
Length: Multi Para, Para
Genre: Drama, Mystery, Open, Psychological, Romance, Thriller/Suspense,
Member Since:December 14, 2017




i could care less.



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   「 ✿ 」's Blurbs
About me:
Who I'd like to meet:
UME WATARU
They work long hours and late nights in an unruly city that never sleeps--- and within concrete walls and dark alleyways, therein lies a mystery. With atleast a dozen disappearances and odd sightings in the mist, they are told to keep calm but stay cautious. "Don't talk to strangers. Don't help anyone. Don't walk into danger." Even if it has sweet words and round doe eyes, and takes the form of a soft silhouette. Perhaps, Ume Wataru was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or perhaps, there is more.

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「 ✿ 」's Friends Comments
Displaying 10 of 136 comments (View All | Add Comment)
𝔖𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔱 𝔇𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔪𝔰

May 19th 2019 16:37


Hello~ thanks so much for accepting the add! 
Whenever you've got the time I would absolutely love to discuss story or just jump into one. Either way I hope your day is going well and look forward to talking with you.
` solarpower

May 7th 2019 22:31


:) 

 ✿ 
𝗽𝗶𝗰𝗸𝗽𝗼𝗰𝗸𝗲𝘁.

Apr 8th 2019 19:35


Above all the tastes his tongue savors and verbally spews, it’s always that of the unconventional making it to his top list of favorites. Nyura relaxes against his cushioned seat, arms in a loose fold that signals she might still be worthy of that elusive bin. I did throw out your portfolio, actually. Lips curve to a faint smile as she goes on, and a keen set of eyes don’t miss her elaborate lifestyle purchases. Although he’s almost certain that her wealthy extras is practically a lure for men (or women) with lower IQs and a foundation for social climbing. Still, Nyura appreciates effort, and he appreciates her bravery in coming forward. So, you lied because you weren’t confident that I’d accept a meeting in a true form? Huh, sketchy.

As a worker bee, the strategy has been linear; get work done, get paid. He’s in another position that intensifies all probabilities into other vectors. Considering their meeting begins under false pretenses, and now reading the business card of said Nanami Yano, Nyura’s ready to grill her in his own way. He sets the business card to a side. Without eye contact, he places his own order, “green tea for this gentleman,” and Nyura returns both menus after, “miso, and a uni ( うに ) carbonara.” He doesn’t drink alcohol, if that’s worth for her mental notepad. She should have indulged in the favorable glass of her personal vices.

Nyura isn’t owner of an exceptionally large company, not large enough for someone to barely squeeze into a forceful interview; it is what it is. “Firstly, I don’t hire people who don’t exist,” vague gesture towards the business card, “sorries to Yuno-san,” he leans forward and rests chin over intertwining fingers, “I like to keep my stress level as low as possible. You do know that the UFJ was under fire in Amerika in suspicion of fraud, right? I take you’re not seeking a financial position with me,” he rises his fresh cup of tea and sips with peacefully shut eyes. “Oh,” vision lands on her again, “I do need a new secretary. The last one is on maternity leave.” He still suspects she’s involved in other investigative matters, so the closer they are, the faster he can clear his name of whatever she thinks he’s into.

Their food arrives within a reasonable wait. Even a chef of his caliber brightens as soon as he picks up his miso bowl under his palm, “いただきます,” he gives her the time for indulgence until their main course arrives. Nyura is playing easy now, he knows how much predators like the sport with their victims; personal experience. He picks up a piece of uni with chopsticks, “so, what makes you want to get to know me, Wataru-san? Why should I hire you?” He twirls the pasta and keeps his gaze on her. His expression is unreadable, but crimson irises state an offensive calm. “Let’s see what fun things google say about you, how about it?” He fishes his phone from his pocket and sets it between their plates. Any professional has a public resume; a real one. With that, a more playful gleam bleeds through his countenance.
𝗽𝗶𝗰𝗸𝗽𝗼𝗰𝗸𝗲𝘁.

Apr 4th 2019 20:37


A chef will always be a chef at heart. It’s a natural drive that builds Nyura’s persona into the strong individual he’s today, and the unconventional terrors along the way leaves his signature aura a mark in those he ever crosses with. That’s a fact.

▻We laughed, we ventured, we were hunters under the protection of darkness until we murdered the perfect one and dragged her from the forest between our small town homes; we skinned and butchered her in equal parts so we could make our sets of parents proud. Venison, anyone?◅

Lately Nyura’s main focus is on work, it’s always work. It’s a distraction that keeps him from taking a trip to Hokkaido and visiting his late brother. It kills him that he missed his anniversary. He doesn’t have time for his small range of rightfully placed connections, starting with Jiro Seung, a friendly police officer. Little does Nyura know that even those close in his life notice the impending thought of danger that they feel in his presence. Jiro knows first hand that Nyura is an excellent martial artist with calm strategy and steel discipline, he’s just as fast on his feet as he is wielding a chef knife. So, as any normal friend would, the Korean-born began a border-line obsessive investigation trying to dig up any dirt. It’s fun, he has the power, so why not? Curiosity, right?

Jiro’s findings made him wary. On Interpol he’s registered as a missing child since fourteen, pronounced dead after the case ran cold. No death certificate though. The history that comes with Nyura’s ghost inspires Jiro to send an anonymous tip to another agency. As much as he is curious, he’s also loyal. Someone else can do the dirty work.

It started to rain.


He’s in Tokyo for a while taking care of business, searching to seal a partner for the company he currently runs. It’s not his own, he just clawed himself upward with that cut-throat attitude. He’s a survivor, after all. He’s due for a meeting he arrives early for and takes it upon himself to venture on the outside seating viewing a skyline of the city; it brings some nostalgia. He misses parkour. Rain isn’t strong enough yet so he can’t get wet underneath the large awning. A red feather dances in the wind, and he lingers with the scent of Tokyo before he re-enters in order to make it to his meeting.

Table three, he spots her with ease. He’s cautious. Her face is somewhat familiar but he didn’t find anything important when he ran his own google search on her. Is she an investigator or some sh*t, why?

“Hello, I’m Saito, Nyura,” he pulls his chair out so he can take his seat across from her. Scarlet irises have an intensity of a thinker, and he follows up his introduction in a way that doesn’t follow Japanese social laws, “what’s your real name, actually? Your resume online is garbage, and seems made up, if you ask me. I’ve seen plenty alike.” He leans back against his chair and takes a sip of water; he’s calm. “It’s nice to meet you, though. The carbonara here is one of the best. Spoke with the chef earlier, the meal is on the house.”
Spike.

Jun 29th 2018 18:05


( Yo - Sorry 'bout my slack. Swear I don't take four moon cycles to reply every time. Appreciate your patience and still lookin' forward to writing with ya. )
Spike.

Jun 28th 2018 01:40


Spike leaned against the rusted metal of his mono-racer, well out of commotion's way and about to start smoking through the filter of his last cigarette. Being out of smokes was his cue to ditch any occasion. Lady luck sure had a personal vengeance on his ass. The bounty hunter had thrown on a pair of Lennon-style specs that were evidently more suited for function than style. The shades were good for zooming in on targets from long distance posts and for facial recognition, particularly useful in verifying bounty heads post plastic surgery. Spike took a lazy drag and spied. Building's main entrance was blockaded by guards and police cars. No one was getting in unless they belonged there. The immediate vicinity was littered with news trucks and other mono-ships: all the folks pining for a prize of one kind or another. What a load of rat crap.

Huh?

The bounty hunter's peripherals catch on to a tousle while he zooms out of focus from the main building. Attention shifted, his binocular vision redirects to get a better view of a sort of …kidnapping? You've gotta be kidding. Here? No way someone'd risk it with the hoard of cops around. Unless these little turds were in on something.

Spike spat out his spent cig and sighed. Might be worth the trouble, might not. His stomach growled as an instigator. These guys looked like the smallest of the small fries. It's a good thing lady luck held a knack for being fickle - better to take a chance, so his stomach said.

-

Your typical suspicious white van in an alleyway. These guys really lacked innovation. Spike casually sauntered straight up to the guy standing guard post, a denim wearing hood rat type.

"Yo. Gotta smoke?" Spike sported an easy-going smirk, his counterpart responding with a scowl.

"Beat it, pal. I don't got no smokes and you don't got no reason to be pokin' your ass where it don't belong. Got it?"

Spike remained all cases of laid back. "Ah, c'mon. Don't be stingy now."

"You deaf or what, sh*thead?" The thug dug within his jean jacket to showcase the edge of his holster. Spike's smirk widened. It'd been a while since he'd ruffled some feathers and engaged in some hearty combat. He was almost starting to look forward to this little side quest. His rival seemed well out of patience, gripping his gun for ready fire. So be it. "Alright, asshole, I said--" The hoodrat's idle threat was cut off by the heel of Spike's boot ramming into his midsection and knocking the wind out of him. Guy went down far too easy - no fun there.

Dudes inside well-alerted of incoming trouble, one prods the left back door open and pokes his head and gun out. His eyes meet the fetal hunch of his wiped-out comrade and then dart around for the culprit - that's when Spike's boot makes a reprise. He'd hiked up the top of the van and waited for his opponent's head to poke out to make his move. Brandishing his semi-automatic pistol by now, Spike hops down from his momentary elevation into action. Bulky guy with a scruffy beard's bleeding from his nostril thanks to Spike's introductory kick. He's accompanied by a pissed off blonde dude with a band aid across his cheek and a dark-haired lady tied to a chair. Huh.. Spike could've sworn he'd seen her around somewhere before, but this was no time to be playing guess who.

"F***in' bastard. Who the hell do you think you are?" Scruff-face growls through the wrist he's got pinned against his nose to stop the bleeding. His blonde-boy partner aims for the middle of Spike's face and scoffs.

"Chopped liver, that's what you are." The blonde guy grins ear to ear, finger pressed against the gun trigger. Meanwhile, a neighboring explosion reverberates and shakes the ground beneath them all. An explosion that big had to be coming from the bank. Looks like this Onryo bounty might've found a way to strike. Luck was a fickle lady after all.

ʜᴇʟʟɪᴏɴ.

Jun 14th 2018 01:13


❝ --- "Right. . ." Akira was. . . Unsure of what to say, to put it lightly. He felt better, hearing Ume's words, though and so he hoped he could steal some of her confidence for this conference. Taking a deep breath, Akira parted through the conference, entering stage left.

The thunderous applause didn't really faze Akira-- The book on the podium, bearing the name Fudo, however, did. It left him speechless, mouth hanging open-- There was a ringing in his ears, coupled with the applause of the crowd, Akira was feeling more and more lost.

Then, there was a snapping-- No, clapping, but much closer. It was the event host, a suited individual-- A representative from Sector 1. He stuck out his hand, said some words that Akira couldn't quite hear, but he shook his hand regardless.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fudo."  The man said. He must've said his name somewhere, but Akira hadn't heard it, his mind having focused on the book in his hands. "Why don't you tell us about that book there?"

Akira understood that much. He still wasn't any good at these sorts of speeches-- But he could try, at least. Looking out among the crowd, Akira squinted, before seeing Ume, giving him an encouraging smile.

"It's. . . I was approached by a reporter. That's how it started. She had a proposition for me, and I accepted. She needed my help, and so I helped. Were it not for her. . . I wouldn't be standing here. She's the one responsible."   
ʜᴇʟʟɪᴏɴ.

Jun 13th 2018 19:47


❝ --- “Yeah, super cute.” Akira said cheerfully, giving her a faint smile. “I just hope you weren’t planning on vacationing in Canada. If I can convince Miki. . . I’d like to go to somewhere in the British Columbia— Somewhere as remote as possible without going completely off the grid.”

With Taro able to continue his schooling, he had returned to university, much to his bemusement. At least there plenty of girls there, though. Miki was. . . Concerned about him, but was sure he’d be able to follow Akira’s example, or at least use knowing the icon of change to his advantage.

“Hey, Ume. . .” Sat on the empty train now, Akira stood and stared out the window, watching buildings fly by as the train sped along the rails. “If you don’t mind me asking. . . Whatever happened to that doctor— Jin or something?” It had seemed like forever ago, when it had only been a few months. Akira’s sense of time was slowly warping, now that things had calmed down.

ʜᴇʟʟɪᴏɴ.

Jun 13th 2018 02:35


❝ --- "I am."

Akira walked past Miki, giving her a small hug. He was dressed in something that Miki had personally picked out for him-- white suit pants, black shoes, and a black, collared shirt. She insisted that Akira had to 'look his best,' even if he had some objections about Miki dressing him.

In an effort to try and hide the markings on his face, Akira had worn a pair of sunglasses on their way to the Sector 1 train. But-- Sunglasses weren't his thing, and Akira quickly abandoned them in Ume's car. He wouldn't really miss them.

"Who are we meeting today?" Akira had. . . Forgotten just who he was meeting. He had tried to keep up with Ume, but she was much more attuned to this than he was. He was still the poster boy for this new change but. . . Akira didn't feel like one. He just did as Ume told him, and answered questions truthfully-- If he could.
ʜᴇʟʟɪᴏɴ.

Jun 13th 2018 00:25


❝ --- The markings on Akira's face had become more refined, almost to the point that they were almost perfect shapes running down his face. Immediately following the fight, Akira fell into another spell of anguish, remaining in his room-- Or sitting alone in the park. Wherever he was, he had remained silent, only speaking in one or two word sentences. Miki had done her best to comfort him, and from time to time, he seemed really appreciative of what she was doing. Still, Akira didn't seem at ease, and Miki wasn't sure he'd be able to return to who he once was.

Slowly, however, Akira had recovered. He was able to speak more at public talks, though he avoided any questions about Ryo. Things were looking up otherwise-- Like a resolution might be made, that the world might be saved.

"I am now." Akira said, smiling softly before carving off a large piece of the stack of pancakes before him, swallowing it whole with ease. His heartache hadn't quite affected his appetite. He wasn't really good at these sorts of things, which is why he usually let Ume take the lead.

"Ume called, she said she'll be here in a few minutes." She said, before walking behind Akira, arms wrapping around him and affectionately embracing him.

Thank you for keeping your promise. 
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